


Eight's Company

by oxiosa



Series: Brarg Week 2018 [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: 2P Hetalia, Crack Crossover, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mochitalia - Freeform, Nekotalia, Nyotalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-02 00:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxiosa/pseuds/oxiosa
Summary: They don’t know exactly what happened. They don’t even know exactly how it happened. Martín and Luciano had woken up and they had simply been there.





	Eight's Company

**Author's Note:**

> Disclamer; the characters used in this work belong to the community Latin Hetalia and their respective creators. More info about them in the following link > www.latin-hetalia.livejournal.com
> 
> Argentina: Martín Hernández  
> Brazil: Luciano Da Silva.  
> Chile: José Manuel González Rodríguez.

Martín  _ knows _ Arthur is to blame.

He has no proof really, but he knows it deep in his bones. Who else has a magic wand and enjoys making Martín’s life miserable, after all?

He also knows how he sounds like as he talks on the phone with Manuel, speaking of things a night ago he would have called a madman’s tale. Manuel listens to his ranting quietly, and once Martín is done and asks for his counsel, he very carefully asks if Martín is drunk.

“It’s _ morning _ , Manuel,” Martín answers impatiently.

“Yes, that’s why I’m asking. I would have assumed so otherwise,” Manuel answers flatly and very unhelpfully. He sighs, and Martín hears him mutter to himself under his breath. “Fine, I believe you. Not the weirdest thing you have ever told me. Have you tried talking to Arthur? He has more experience with magic than me, and he’s-”

“I’m _ not  _ calling Arthur,” Martín cuts him with fatality.

Manuel goes quiet for a moment.

“You have not called Arthur,” he says, and Martín is not sure if he’s asking or simply stating a very obvious fact.

“No, I have not, and I’m not-”

“I'm calling Arthur,” Manuel announces.

“Manuel, don't call Arthur, I’m seri-Goddammit, he hung up!”

“I told you we should have called Arthur from the beginning,” Luciano eyes him from the edge of his cup as he sips from his coffee, resting against the kitchen counter.

“Don’t start again,” Martín snaps an accusing finger in his direction, and Luciano shrugs goodnaturedly.

Martín stares angrily at his phone, and redials Manuel’s number. He taps his foot angrily as he waits for him to pick up his damn phone. He eyes to his right, peaks to the quiet living room, and makes a face.

Sitting on his couch,  _ Luciano  _ and _ Martín _ wait for them.

Well, they are not technically them (or _ are  _ they?). They look the same, but not exactly identical. It’s like someone has taken Martín and Luciano’s mold to make a copy, but decided to go crazy when it came time to color them.

While the Luciano standing in the kitchen sipping his coffee - the Luciano Martín had hated for so many years and had learned to love - has tan skin and dark hair and eyes, the Luciano on the Couch is pale and has light brownish hair. He also has dark bags under creepy orange eyes that seem to have light of their own, and he calls himself Yago.

The Martín on the Couch is by far less colorful than Martín himself in comparison. He calls himself Ignacio (or so has Yago said; he has yet to open his mouth), and in fact almost lacks color altogether; he’s pale, sickly so, like he’s never even heard of sunlight. His hair falls limp and greasy around his face, of a dark color Martín can’t even pick out - is it black? Brown?  _ Green? _ Martín is not sure he  _ wants _ to know. Side by side, they look like the ‘before’ and ‘after’ of some dumb cheap makeover show.

They don’t know exactly what happened. They don’t even know exactly how it happened. Martín and Luciano had woken up and they had simply been  _ there _ .They just know they don’t belong to the same worlds, and that something has dragged Yago and Ignacio to Martín and Luciano’s universe - and here is where Martín places fault over Arthur.

The kettle starts whistling over the fire and Manuel is not answering - will not answer, Martín knows. He pockets his phone with huff, and busies himself making tea before he starts passing around the kitchen  _ again _ . He puts tea bags in two cups and pours the hot water, and then walks to his living room followed by Luciano.

“So, how did it go?” Yago asks. Ignacio sits by his side, staring straight ahead and ignoring the cup of tea Martín leaves for him. “What did your friend Manuel say?”

Something in the way he talks, in his carefully tailored politeness, something in his smirk and in the glow of his eyes, that makes the hair in the back of Martín’s neck stand.

“He’s working on it,” Luciano answers flatly.

Luciano has decided almost instantly he doesn't like Yago. _‘There’s something wrong with him’_ he had said to Martín after the initial shock of finding them. Martín won’t argue about that, but then again there is something wrong with Ignacio too.

Yago smiles at him, and even if he shares Luciano’s face, it’s nothing like the smiles Martín is used to. There’s something undeniable cruel and twisted on the tight stretch of his lips.

“That’s good,” he says. “I’ve been thinking we could have fun in the meantime, while we wait for this mess to get sorted out.”

His smile grows even wider, and his orange eyes sparkle in a way that cannot be natural. Martín gets the feeling that whatever ‘fun’ this psycho is thinking won’t be fun _ at all. _

His phone sounds again, and Martín has never been happier to have an excuse to leave.

“Gotta take this one, sorry,” he says and rushes back into the kitchen.

“I’m coming with you,” Luciano says with a small voice and follows closely after him.

It’s Manuel, much to Martín and Luciano’s relieve.

“Arthur and I checked our books, and we might have a solution,” he informs.

“ _ Might, _ ” Martín repeats flatly.

“Do you want our help or not, Martín?”

Martín hums loudly for Manuel, takes a moment to make a show of giving it a deep thought.

“Well, I really don’t know anyone else who practices magic instead of live a normal life, so I guess I do, yeah,” he decided.

Manuel goes quiet, and Martín can picturing him pinching the bridge of his nose clear as day.

“Between us, I’m only helping you because I  _ can’t  _ stand the concept on two Martíns pestering me,” he says.

Martín eyes Ignacio, still motionless and mute, and decides wiser to keep quiet before Manuel sends him back to whatever universe these two come from and leaves Ignacio in his place.

“‘Kay, good luck opening an interdimensional portal,” he hangs up before Manuel can answer.

The next three hours are long and awkward. Sharing space with Yago and Ignacio is disturbing and depressing in turns, but Martín doesn’t trust them enough to leave them on their own. He’s not sure what they are, or what are their intentions, and maybe he feels a little safer when he  _ knows _ where they are.

By the fourth hour, Martín excuses himself to take a smoke on his balcony, watching the city and the people below them go by as he tries to wind out. Luciano joins him, and closes the glass door behind him to give them some sort of privacy. Martín offers his cigarette quietly, and Luciano takes a deep drag before giving it back. He leans over the raining, resting his forearms on it and clasping his hands together as he looks down.

“You know, I thought it'll be fun to meet our doppelgangers,” he pouts.

Martín lets out a smoky sigh, and raises one eyebrow.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Some sort of sexual fantasy?”

“No!” Luciano snaps defensive, frowns at him. He remains quiet for a moment, and then ask soundly strangely betrayed; “I mean... you haven't thought of it?”

Martín is not answering. Mostly because it would be  _ hypocritical _ of him.

By the fifth hour forced to live with-whatever it is Yago and Ignacio are, Martín gets a text from Manuel telling him he’s just arrived in Buenos Aires, and will be heading to his place off. It’s rather shady, concrete and to the point, even impersonal, but Martín shrugs it off, thinks it’s Manuel being Manuel.

In highsight, Martín should have seen it coming.

“We might have a bigger problem,” Manuel says as he stands by Martín’s front door.

There are two girls behind him. One is tall and blonde, carrying a dark hairy cat purring content between her arm. The other is short and dark skinned, and strangely enough holds a yellow cat chewing and licking at her fingers in turns. They both stare at Martín with wide surprised eyes, and are so familiar that Martín has to cringe.

“He’s so cute,  _ Tinha _ !” the shorter one beams and whispers to the other in what sounds like congratulation.

Tinha, - because  _ of course _ she has the same stupid nickname Luciano uses for  _ him _ , of course she’s called  _ Martina _ \- eyes him up and down with critical eyes. Every inch of her body language screams ‘I will be the judge of that’, and maybe some other day Martín would have posed and challenged her back, but right now he’s too tired to try deal with someone as stubborn and proud as himself.

Martín blinks slowly, and then turns to Manuel expecting an explanation.

“A slight miscalculation,” Manuel grumbles tiredly. “We’re working on it.On the meantime...”

He gestures vaguely at the girls and their cats.

“Sure,” Martín says, feeling like this might be some sort of dream. “Why not. Yeah, sure, come inside. Welcome to the madhouse.”

Like it had been waiting for the invitation, the golden cat - the  _ Martín Cat  _ he thinks and honestly this is starting to be delusional - jumps to the floor and slip right between Martín’s legs to get inside, waltzing with its tail up like it owns the place. Luciano Cat -  _ dear Lord  _ \- lets out an indignant meow, wriggles in the Martina’s arms until she lets go, and runs after him. As they disappear from sight, Martín hears something crashing in his living room, and already can feel a heartache blooming on the back of his head.

Both Martina and who Martín can only guess -  _ and correctly so  _ \- as Luciana follow them inside. Martín’s already closing the door on Manuel’s face, thinking how is he gonna introduce his new guests to his _ already  _ unwanted guests, to Luciano, but Manuel stops him.

“Here,” Manuel hands him over what seem to be two white round cushions. “This too.”

Martín takes the cushions, and watches Manuel turn around and leave dragging his feet and grumbling like some tired old man to himself. He looks down at the things in his hands, and raises his eyebrows when he realizes they are not cushions but some kind of white soft pastry. He stares questiongly at them, and suddenly they open a pair of green and brown eyes each and blink back at him. Martín let out a scream and throws them in the air, and both  _ things _ respond with tiny high pitched screeches.

It’s going to be a  _ long _ day.

**Author's Note:**

> ☑ Brarg Week - Day 5: Crossover.
> 
> A/N: 2P/Nyotalia/Nekotalia/Mochitalia Crossover?!! Did I miss anyone??!!
> 
> The 2P versions are the ones I’ve seen used by the Latin Hetalia fandom, and who I’m not entirely sure who to credit at this point (might research and edit later, I really don't have the time or energy for that right now). I was just gonna call them Luciano and Martín too, but it got kinda messy to write done, so changed their names since that’s what I’ve seen people do with 2Ps anyways!


End file.
